


Medusi

by charivari



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Isolation, Last of a species, M/M, Murder, Polyamory, Secret Identity, Sibling Incest, gorgons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The descendants of Euryale the Gorgon live in an isolated house on a windy peak, bound together against the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medusi

For monsters of the 21st century the key to longevity is isolation. The descendants of Euryale are no exception, making their home on a windy precipice on the Pacific coastline. The previous owner chose the spot for its seclusion, intending it to be a retreat from the city for himself and his wife. It proved disastrous, a drunken row leading to a murder-suicide. It wasn't until the man failed to return to work that the police were called. By that time the blood had soaked irrevocably into the carpet, resisting attempts by a clean-up crew to remove the stain before auction day.

The turnout was encouraging though it quickly become clear most were only here for a morbid glimpse at a murder site. Marius Stonebridge faced almost no competition during the bidding and emerges triumphant. His acquisition made the local papers. He is a successful sculptor, known for his statues of tortured figures. It is small wonder he buys a house with such a history. Every tortured artist needs inspiration. No one figures he has bought the house to isolate himself and his siblings from the world, a means to disguise their dark dealings and heritage.

Every photograph ever snapped at them, at galleries or press junkets, they are always adorned in dark sunglasses. Marius tells press, business associates, they all suffer from light sensitivity, a lie to keep their silver, magical eyes a secret. No one guesses that his sculptures, heralded as such pristine works of art, are the petrified bodies of vagrants and street-walkers, coerced into Marius' studio, expecting to be paid as artist' models, only for Marius to lower his glasses, freezing them into masterpieces.

Addie Pryce is his latest victim. A run-away who had made the mistake of trying to hitch-hike on the highway. She was picked up by her Marius' younger brother Lysander, tempted by his promise of food, a bath and chance to become famous. After the first two she follows Marius to the shed that serves as his studio, dressed in Grecian-style robes. Marius is a charmer, able to talk her into revealing one breast. He know sex sells. He tells her to smile as if posing for a photo, slipping his shades down his nose so his silver eyes peak forth.

Petrification starts at the feet. The girl screams and struggles as she feels her body solidify. She chokes to death as her heart and organs become stone in her chest. Her face is the last thing that freezes, stricken in exquisite agony and confusion. Her arms frozen upwards as she groped for him in desperation. Marius smiles in satisfaction, returning to the house to gather his siblings, pulling his brother from the piano and his sister from her dolls.

"What do you think?" he asks proudly.

Lysander sneers, good hand on his hip while his lame hand hangs limply at his side.

"She looks the same as all the others."

Marius gives him an exasperated glance,

"See her arms are raised in protest, breast bared, like a Sabine woman who's been ravished. In fact that's what I'm going to call her."

Lysander rolls his eyes,

"How about Whore with her Tit out version six, or is it seven? I can't remember."

"Would it kill you to compliment my work," Marius protests, "After all it's the reason we have money in the bank, food on our table," his tone rises in viciousness, "It certainly doesn't come from shit you try to play on the piano."

He's hit a nerve. Lysander's face contorts in pain, fury.

"Who's fucking fault is that," he screams and Ligeia, the most sentimental of them all starts to whimper, "Have you forgotten you’re the one who crushed my hand. All over this cunt..."

He points at Ligeia who cowers.

"Shut your mouth," Marius roars before he goes any further, "Get the fuck out of my studio."

"Gladly," Lysander seethes, "I'll go back to my shit shall I?"

He slams the door behind him. Marius can hear the crunch of his boots as he stomps towards the house. Ligeia is crying, mascara running down her cheeks. The effect arouses him artistically but he forces himself into caring brother mode, kneeling at her side.

"Don't cry baby girl," he soothes, "Lys didn't mean it."

"He hates me," Ligeia sniffles, "Because of what happened to his hand."

Marius grips her shoulders sternly,

"I ruined his hand," he says, "He only blames me. You did nothing wrong."

It's not her fault she is the only female of their species, at least that they know of. It's not her fault that her brothers, as males, feel a biological lust for her, causing them to fight, Marius breaking Lys' hand in rage, ruining his ability to play piano.

He twists his fingers in her curls, oil black with the faint consistency of scales.

"I'll speak to him, make it better. You go play in your room."

She nods, sniffs, wiping her cheeks childishly on the back of her hands. She is a woman in twenties but Marius still treats her like a child, except in the bedroom. He coddles her, speaks down to her, encourages to take tea with dolls and play make believe. He is afraid if she grows up she might discover independence, want to leave them. That he cannot have. They must stick together, for better or worse. His mother made him vow on his deathbed.

Ligeia smacks a kiss on his cheek. He beams, taking her hand gloved in white fishnet, trying to lead her back to the house but her eyes are drawn to the sea. She goads him over to the cliff-face, to scan for the nymphs their mother told stories of. But there is nothing except vast blue sea rippled with white waves. Ligeia's shoulders slump in disappointment. Marius wraps his arm around her,

"It's too cloudy today. Nymphs only come to the surface when the sun is shining."

This is a lie to lessen her disappointment. Marius doubts there any nymphs left, their numbers decimated by hooks and nets. But he would say anything to stop his sister frowning.

"Let's go inside," he says, but she resists.

"I want to watch a little longer," she pleads.

Marius frowns. He doesn't like her being unsupervised near a cliff. The last thing he wants is for her to topple accidentally to her death. He opens his mouth only to have her predict what he is going to say.

"Please brother, I'll be very careful."

She wraps herself around his middle, silver eyes begging. He relents, knowing he shouldn't waste any more time in making up with Lysander.

"Alright," he says to her delight, "But you can't go any further than this."

He draws a line in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. She nods, placing herself diligently behind it. He leans to kiss her hair, turning his eyes to the upstairs window. Lysander is watching with a scowl before he disappears, presumably to his piano. Marius sighs into Ligeia's hair, giving it a quick ruffles before he leaves her, trudging into the house.

Ligeia watches the sea intensely but there is no activity other than the roll of the waves, the pivot of gulls riding the wind. Her ears pick up the faint sound of a piano, notes intermittently beautiful and jarring. The latter tells her it is Lys forcing himself to play with both hands. It is only when tune becomes overwhelming melodic that she knows it is her brothers playing together, Marius serving as Lys' left hand. He had always been loath to pick up an instrument before the incident, joking he had no musical ability. Guilt after Lys' mutilation gave him the dedication to learn, working at the piano relentlessly until he could play the notes Lys struggled with.

Ligeia turns from the sea and sprints to the house, wind pawing at the skirts of her lace dress. Inside she kicks off her black boots, toes curling in her stockinged feet. She tip-toes up the stairs to the drawing room. Marius has left it open just enough for her to peek inside, see her brothers at the piano. Marius' free arm is wrapped around Lysander's hip, Lysander's head resting in the crook of his neck. The duet comes to a close, in the silence the brothers move to kiss.

Ligeia watches, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. The sight of her brothers groping at each other, kissing as heatedly as they argued, never failed to amuse her. But she does not want to be caught. Lysander will yell at her, as he does every time she stumbles on them together.

She flees to her room, walls lined with dolls in Victorian dresses and posters of Shakespearean productions. She adores Shakespeare, particular the tragic heroines like Ophelia and Desdemona. She grabs the nearest doll and swings her around by her plastic arms, "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore thou Romeo!"

She drops the doll unceremoniously and reaches for her video cassette of Olivier's Hamlet.

Sometime later Marius finds her hunched at the edge of her bed, watching tensely as Hamlet and Laertes duel. 

"Lysander okay now," she asks vaguely, eyes glued to the screen.

Marius joins her on the bed, pulling her into his arms.

"He's fine."

Ligeia nods mechanically, still engrossed in the battle.

"Poor Laertes," Marius says as the man is dying on-screen, "He's my favorite character you know."

Ligeia’s head jerks around,

"Not Hamlet?"

Marius scoffs,

"Hamlet is a moron. He drives poor Ophelia to her death. Laertes is the one who tries to avenge her. He loved her, just as I love you."

Ligeia smiles, resting back against him comfortably.

"Laertes and Ophelia didn't have a brother," she says.

"There's nothing to say they didn't," Marius says, stroking her hair, "Perhaps they did have a brother, who they loved just as much as they did each other."

Ligeia smiles up at him,

"Like us."

She reaches to push an errant lock of hair from his forehead.

"Just like us," Marius smiles, capturing her hand and planting a kiss on her palm, "I think it's time for bed Princess."

She know he means sex. She's not so child-like in that respect. But she welcomes his advance, seeing nothing wrong in it. The Old Gods married siblings, nieces. She giggles as he carries her into his room like a bride, appropriate since she is wearing white, and makes love to her gently, tenderly, completely different from his rough hungry way he fucks Lys. They are different creatures, Lys made of stone and Ligeia delicate as a flower and he treats them accordingly.

Afterwards he holds her naked in his arms, listening the discordant sounds of Lysander's playing. He always plays when his siblings are having sex, whether it's to drown out of the sounds or hammer out his frustration Marius can't tell. What he does know is that soon the notes will fall into silence, Lysander will rise from his chair and sneak into the room, into the bed, cuddling up to Marius' back. Marius will always reach back to touch him, to tell him he's welcome, now that the act is over.

Huddled like three chicks in a nest the Gorgons sleep serenely in their isolation.


End file.
